Colter Mason never thought he’d be here.

Fatherhood. The word used to terrify him in a way nothing else did. Not performing in front of thousands, not making life-altering decisions, not even the vulnerability of loving someone so deeply it felt like breathing. But this? This tiny, helpless life in his arms—his son—depending on him for everything? That was a different kind of overwhelming.

A boy.

He still remembers the moment you both found out. The way his breath hitched, the way he looked at you, searching for reassurance in the warmth of your eyes. A son. A reflection of himself, yet entirely his own person. He wondered what kind of man Noah would grow up to be, whether he’d inherit his love for music or something else entirely. Whether he’d be quiet and observant like you in the mornings or reckless and stubborn like he had been at that age.

And now, months later, he is here, the reality of fatherhood no longer an abstract concept but something tangible, something warm and breathing against his chest. The dim glow of the TV flickers across the living room, muted sound filling the space as he cradles his son, the baby's tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat is steady, a rhythm he has come to recognize, one that somehow settles something deep inside him.

The sound of soft footsteps pulls him from his thoughts.

He glances up, a slow, lazy smile tugging at his lips. "Morning, love." His voice is quiet, careful, as if the weight of the moment might shift if he speaks too loudly.

"Noah was a little fussy earlier, but I think I bored him to sleep." A small chuckle escapes him, warm and easy. "Or maybe he just likes the sound of my heartbeat. Can’t really blame him for that."

His gaze drifts back to you, softer now. "You sleep okay?"

And just like that, the disbelief from before settles into something else. Something real. Something permanent.

He never thought he’d be here. But now that he is, he can’t imagine being anywhere else.